


Disciples of Xoltis

by ProtegoEtServio (Ryuki)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fictional Religion & Theology, Missionary, Political, Socio-Political
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuki/pseuds/ProtegoEtServio
Summary: Mornings in small-town suburbias were, usually, uneventful. But that makes for boring stories...Standing in my kitchen, sipping at my coffee, I wondered if the group of strangers meandering about my street had gotten off at the wrong bus stop. There was only one in this town and they didn’t look like they meant to be here. In their matching white button-downs and khaki slacks or skirts, they looked like a lost catering crew.One of the strangers glanced down the street, spotting me staring from my kitchen. Even from the distance, their eyes brightened at the sight of me. They exuberantly waved, motioning for me to come out. I sighed, setting my coffee mug on the counter. Well, if none of my neighbors were going to give these poor people directions, I guess I’d have to.





	Disciples of Xoltis

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the missionary/adventure blogger who tried to illegally contact the Sentinelese tribe, which could have potentially killed the whole populace via germs. 
> 
> And by all missionaries in general.
> 
> Might have more chapters later on.

Mornings in small-town suburbias were, usually, uneventful. Sleepy people, rising from bed and brewing coffee. Children being ushered off to school, which happened to be in walking distance in good weather. A child being driven along their paper route by a sleepy-eyed parent. Things like that. 

Standing in my kitchen, sipping at my coffee, I wondered if the group of strangers meandering about my street had gotten off at the wrong bus stop. There was only one in this town and they didn’t look like they meant to be here. In their matching white button-downs and khaki slacks or skirts, they looked like a lost catering crew.

One of the strangers glanced down the street, spotting me staring from my kitchen. Even from the distance, their eyes brightened at the sight of me. They exuberantly waved, motioning for me to come out. I sighed, setting my coffee mug on the counter. Well, if none of my neighbors were going to give these poor people directions, I guess I’d have to.

After slipping on my tattered sneakers - an odd juxtaposition to my half-finished business casual look - I trudged outdoors. A slight chill remained in the air, dewy in the first strands of full morning. It was late enough that a few people should be waving their kids down the sidewalk or trudging to condensation covered cars. The street remained empty, save for the odd group.

Some curtains flicked aside, or blinds angled open, to stare at the strangers idling about the community. Yet, no one else had come to help. Shrugging my shoulders, I approached the sea of button-downs and khaki. 

The group watched my approach, their air of uncertainty transforming into bright eagerness. The one who had spotted me from my kitchen began shoving through their compatriots toward me. 

“Hello,” I called as I came within polite distance. I braced myself to break the news they weren’t at whatever event they were hired for.

The stranger’s smile and eyes beamed bright. They took my hand, abruptly, shaking with vigor. I bit back the urge to yank my hand back as they spoke. “Hello! We’re here to help!” 

Confusion broke through my annoyance. My brow furrowed, confusion lighting through my thoughts. “...what?” 

“We’re here to help!” They repeated, that smile never wavering from their face. They were brimming with ‘do gooder’ attitude. “I’m Brother Vulmon.”

“Oh, uh, hello, Brother,” I stammered. I really didn’t want to introduce myself. “I think you’re lost.”

“I think you’re the lost ones,” chuckled Brother Vulmon, receiving titters among his brethren and sistren. Annoyance raised the hairs on the back of my neck, not understanding the joke. Brother Vulmon motioned to himself and his squad, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he explained, “We’re Disciples of the venerable, all-seeing, all-knowing Xoltis. We’re here to help you find the way into his glorious light.” 

My eyes slid along the smiling faces of the Disciples of Xoltis. Each held the same broad smile and zealous glow in their eyes.

I narrowed my eyes, mentally sorting out the situation. Quite a few fresh, new religions had become recognized in the last decade or so. The Disciples of Xoltis wavered at the top of the list. The realization smacked across my thoughts. They were looking for converts. Glancing around the neighborhood, my brain still couldn’t piece together how they’d help, however.

Old Margory could have her fence mended, I supposed, especially with her wife in the hospital. Daryl wouldn’t complain about some assistance with reroofing his house; they complained about leaking after the last storm. I couldn’t think of anything other than odd jobs.

There were more dire, global, situations the Disciples could volunteer to help. Nothing seemed immediately threatening in this haven of suburbia. No wildfires, no starving kids, no drinking water epidemics. There were a few refugee families, but they had settled in months ago the right assistance and community compassion.

Turning my gaze back to the Disciples, I smiled awkwardly. “There’s really nothing here for you to help with. We’re all pretty happy.”

A handful of hushed gasps and hands pressing to lips fluttered through the crowd. One person even muttered, heartfelt and condescending, “Xoltis bless them.”

Brother Vulmon’s brow furrowed. His smile refused to break, though. “You don’t know true happiness until you accept Xoltis into your soul, my dear.” 

The condescension in his tone raked over my nerves. Without meaning to be so sharp, I snapped, “I’m not your dear.” 

“There’s no need to be hostile!” Brother Vulmon’s hands came up, a shield between him and my ‘unwieldy’ rage. Annoyance drove a little harder through my thoughts. “This is why you need Xoltis in your life, HE’ll give you eternal peace. Never a day of anger or sadness with HIM!”

I rolled my eyes, hearing the odd Xoltian uppercases in Brother Vulmon’s very speech. A tiny beep suddenly chimed at my wrist. Glancing down at my watch, I hissed a curse word. A few of the Disciples gasped - again - at my obscene speech. At least two went into a fit of Xoltian praying. 

My attempted act of good Samaritanism cost me most my morning routine. Turning on my heel, I started back toward my home.

“Wait!” Brother Vulmon gasped. I could hear his loafered feet padding after me. “You need our help! Your immortal soul is on the line!” 

Without deigning him a look, I managed to cross my front door threshold and shoot back, “I need to get to work.”

“But, what should we do?” It was like a child whining about being bored. The words grated on me.

In the safety of my home, I finally turned to level a glare at Brother Vulmon. A hopeful look lit in his eyes, though his hands wrung around each other. He smiled, obvious hopefulness shining across his face. It was like a dog spotting someone with a bit of lunch meat.

“Ask your all-knowing Xoltis.”

I could only savor Brother Vulmon’s shocked - morphing quickly to an angry scowl - expression for a second before I slammed the door in his face.


End file.
